


Rematch

by Maledisant



Category: Crows Zero (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maledisant/pseuds/Maledisant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This isn't to be taken too seriously, especially considering how quickly I wrote it - but still, I wanted to give something to a stranger who seems to have a soft spot for Serizawa Tamao, just like I do. So, happy holidays and all the best in the New Year.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Rematch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annakas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annakas/gifts).



> This isn't to be taken too seriously, especially considering how quickly I wrote it - but still, I wanted to give something to a stranger who seems to have a soft spot for Serizawa Tamao, just like I do. So, happy holidays and all the best in the New Year.

 

             “Thought I’d find you here.”

             It was an early autumn afternoon, warm and pleasant, and the sunshine brought out the full display of reds and browns in the disused equipment of the abandoned pier. Serizawa was lying flat on his back, soaking up the year’s last warmth, in a place which looked as if he frequented it pretty often – there were cigarette butts strewn around, a few dirty magazines and several empty beer cans. No wonder Tokio told Genji to look for him here.

             “What do you want?” Serizawa muttered lazily as Genji’s shadow fell across his face.

             “To talk.” Feeling oddly awkward, as Serizawa made no attempt to get up, Genji crouched next to him and lit a cigarette.

             “I’m busy.” Genji looked at him incredulously. This was a new definition of ‘busy’, even by Suzuran’s considerably high layabout standards.

             “It’s about those Asahi boys...”

             “Shut up, Takiya,” Serizawa interrupted him, “I told you, I’m busy.” Genji grinned in spite of himself.

             “What, topping up your tan?”

             “‘Smy day off,” Serizawa stretched and rolled his shoulders against the hard ground. “You should try that, sometime.”

              It appeared that along with taking a day off, Serizawa had also dismissed his entire Army. When the delicate situation with Asahi High – something about somebody’s sister and somebody else’s cousin – came to his attention, Genji summoned Izaki and told him to look up Tokaji, as per the unwritten etiquette of the two gangs; in spite of their mutual hatred, the two somehow ended up serving as liaisons on the rare occasions Takiya and Serizawa needed to talk. But Izaki came back reporting that Tokaji was nowhere to be found; in fact, nobody of any considerable rank in Serizawa’s Army seemed to be in the vicinity of Suzuran High, only a few first- and second-graders guarding their turf. Slightly at a loss, Genji phoned Tokio, who told him where to find Serizawa – but warned him to go alone, if all he wanted was to talk, or else there would be bloodshed.

             Right now, Serizawa looked as far from willing to spill blood as possible, lying with his arms and legs thrown to the sides, his features relaxed in the sunshine, a pair of crooked sunglasses covering his eyes. Still, Genji knew better than to underestimate him; even if Serizawa had ditched his school uniform to soak up the sun in a pair of curry-stained sweatpants and an open shirt, he was still the one-time King of a Hundred Beasts.

             Well, if these were the rules he wanted to play by, fine. Genji lay down on the ground, finding it more comfortable than he expected. It was actually sort of nice, he reflected, to lay down in the middle of the day just because he felt like it, to smoke in silence because there was nothing that needed saying – well, there was, but he gave himself time until the end of his cigarette to bring the subject up again – to feel the sun shine softly on his face and hear the seagulls squawking from the distant harbour. As he was stretching his fingers, toying with the few strands of grass growing in the creaks, Genji’s hand fell on something strange. Bringing it up to his face, he saw that it was a tiny origami paper crane, made out of a magazine scrap; the picture of a girl’s breast was folded neatly in half on its graceful neck. The idea of Serizawa making origami cranes was too outlandish for Genji to consider, and so he came to the conclusion someone else must have left it here. He perched it on top of his nose, then blew it off as he took his last drag and put the cigarette out.

             “So, about that Asahi thing...”

             “ _Shut up_ , Takiya,” Serizawa interrupted him, and his voice was oddly strangled. Genji turned his head to look at him and nearly choked on his own spit.

             The sunglasses were off, revealing Serizawa’s closed eyes and faintly knitted eyebrows. The shirt was pulled slightly up, exposing one sharp hipbone and a trail of dark hair below his navel. Most disconcerting, however, was the hand disappearing in his sweatpants, moving in a slow, unmistakeable rhythm.

             “What the hell are you doing?!” Serizawa opened one eye and looked at Genji, as if barely registering his presence.

             “What I always do.” Genji tried to swallow, as his lips went completely dry, tried to blink, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lazy, mesmerising motion. “You should try that sometime, too,” Serizawa added, closing his eyes and going back to ignoring Genji completely.

             Genji was not used to being ignored, but that was the least of his problems right now. The unhurried, drawn-out movement of Serizawa’s hand seemed to echo across Genji’s entire body, sweeping over his skin until he felt every muscle tighten and thrum along with the rhythm. Within seconds, he was so tense he had to bite his lip to keep himself from shuddering.

             “ _Ai_ , Takiya,” Serizawa said testily, then simply reached, grabbed Genji’s hand and placed it, palm-down, in the general vicinity of Genji’s cock.

             Genji’s hips snapped clearly off the ground at the contact, slight though it was; Serizawa’s fingers, curled around his hand, accidentally brushed against his rapidly filling flesh.

             He had clearly not expected to find Genji already hard, and so Serizawa’s hand hovered for a moment above the sensitive place, until he apparently made up his mind and ran his knuckles none-too-gently along the buttons of Genji’s trousers.

             For Genji, the world seemed to move in fast-forward, so dizzying he could not keep up. One moment, he was wondering how to broach the subject of a complex inter-school diplomatic situation with an infuriating idiot of a rival, and the next thing he knew, the very same rival was deftly unbuckling his belt with one hand, then sliding it boldly into his pants.

             The rollercoaster came to a screeching halt – or else sped up beyond the capacity of human mind, Genji was not sure – when Serizawa’s fingers reached the slick head of his cock, kneading it softly and smearing precome all around. Whatever shock or confusion he might have felt were now replaced by a sharp jolt of pleasure, which quickly melted into recurrent waves of warmth.

             But Genji hated owing favours, and it seemed patently unfair to let Serizawa do all the work by himself, so he reached out tentatively and let his fingers rest on top of Serizawa’s fist, moving with it, until Serizawa pulled his hand out abruptly and Genji’s palm landed flat on the hard flesh, scorching hot even through the worn material.

             There was no way he could back out now, not that he particularly wanted to, not when he – finally – felt the rough calluses on Serizawa’s fingers settle snugly against the underside of his cock and he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. There was no way Genji could back out now, so he decisively scraped his fingernails along the thick length. Serizawa purred low in his throat, then arched his back lightly so that Genji’s hand could slip beneath the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.

             It was kind of strange, the way it was exactly like doing it himself, and the way it was absolutely nothing like it. Genji liked a softer grasp, fingers barely meeting around his length, and quick, sharp movements; how Serizawa knew that, Genji had no idea. Serizawa, on the other hand, liked it tighter but slower; thankfully, the cadences of his breath let Genji know when he was doing it right. The question as to why he was so intent on getting it right was a thought Genji decided to pretend he never even had; all it meant was that he was determined to win.

             However, just like every other time when he fought Serizawa – including the one time he won – this was easier said than done. Pretty soon, Genji felt all his thoughts turn to vapour inside his head, his concentration completely shattered by the impossible choice; he could either focus on the twists and turns of Serizawa’s rough hand, flying up and down his cock, or he could concentrate on the slick hardness in his own palm, pulsing wildly in his grasp. He tried the first approach, and found himself thrusting wantonly up into Serizawa’s skilful touch; he tried the second and was instantly mesmerised by the way the shorter man’s breath turned to barely audible moans, the way the tendons in his neck stood out and his jaw clenched, all of it a response to what Genji was doing to him. Separately, one of these things would have been more than enough to make him come; combined, they had him seeing black, opening his mouth in an incoherent, frayed shout and spurting white stickiness all over the fingers which milked him all the way through to the end.

             Losing might have never felt so good, but he still lost. It was only a good while later, as Genji came to, that he remembered with a burning shame that he lost by a rather wide margin; just as he was gasping for air, still trembling in the last throes of his orgasm, he felt his fingers crushed as Serizawa caught Genji’s hand closed around his cock in a violently tight grip and moved it, finishing for himself what Genji could not.

             Cautiously, Genji opened his eyes, expecting a victorious smirk inches from his face. But Serizawa’s recovery time apparently matched his stamina in a fight, as all Genji saw was matted grass and the squashed origami crane where the other man had been.

           “Send Izaki over tomorrow,” he heard Serizawa’s voice from some distance, then the sound of receding footsteps. “We’ll talk about the fight with Asahi.”

 


End file.
